Ethereal pop. "Her music is much like Sarah McLachlan, Sinead O'Connor, etc. She has what I would call the "Magic Factor".' -Connie Breeze, West Coast Director of Motown Records

10 MP3 Songs
POP: Piano, POP: Today's Top 40



Details:
Ruthann is...'in the "zone" of what is happening musically. She has a definite niche. Her music is much like Sarah McLachlan, Sinead O'Connor, etc. She has what I would call the "Magic Factor".'
-Connie Breeze, West Coast Director of Motown Records

Ruthann's resonating ethereal pop sounds will be sure to garner her both domestic and international recognition and acclaim.

Sound Grove Inc. is a Canadian based record label focused on supporting independent Canadian artists to achieve success nationally and internationally.

www.RuthannSpringle.com

The story of BE

Under the frescos of a sleeping church, Ruthann polished every song into a smooth white stone. Each melody spiraled from her like a toe touching a flat green pond.

On those nights, that church was a cathedral. On those nights she conversed with angels. And on those nights the static sunlight through her kitchen window, the coffee shop confessions on her living room floor, all became professions of everlasting love.

Once, a soft broom kept time with her melodies. A lean figure in a blue smock navigated his brush under the pews, across the dusty floors. She swore she heard him humming; her hands full of keys, and mused along with him. They sang that way for hours, she on the organ, he making the church clean.

His shirt read "Benjamin's Maintenance" When the air smelled faintly of pine, he introduced himself as Ben. She leaned back from the bench, he rested on the pole of his broom, and they talked ever so gently about country flowers and the turning leaves.

That night ended just as the other nights. The only door without a lock for miles closed behind her and the city was still there. But it was on that night Ruthann knew her songs were finally finished.

Maybe she drove home, or maybe she took the streetcar. Or did she walk? She couldn't say. She returned to the church though, half looking for Ben, half listening for him. She never did see him again. But sometimes she suspected she might have just missed him, the floors shining extra bright and her fingers coming clean when she drew them from the pews.

And once she heard his whistle, ever so slight, mingling with the smell of pine, that hung faintly in the air. Once she even asked about him, and was told that no one named Ben was ever there